From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [107]
A stone grew in the place where Achan’s heart had recently stopped bleeding. Very well, Miss Sparrow. Good evening. Achan broke the connection.
Matthias stood beside the table, a dinner of fish and potatoes laid out. “It’s ready, sir.”
Achan was no longer hungry. Shung, where are you?
A long moment passed before Shung answered. Visiting Lady Gali at the bonfire. Should Shung return?
Pig snout. No, Shung. I just wondered where you were, that’s all. I’ll see you later. Have fun.
Achan’s stomach clenched, jealous of Shung’s joy. Why did things happen this way? If only the knights had given him leave to choose his own bride before Mitspah.
Everything had started going badly in Mitspah.
Achan stood, walked to the table, glared at his meal. Perhaps if he wandered by the bonfire he could strike up a conversation with Shung and Lady Gali.
“I’ll be back in a moment, Matthias.” Achan strode from the tent. Cortland and Achan’s cousin jogged to keep up. Achan ignored the occasional well-wishing soldier, each step increasing his anger. Typical of Sparrow to hide from the unknown. Finally, here was his chance to mend things—to make promises she thought he could never make—and she believed him a stranger.
The bonfire raged in a clearing inside the wagon circle. He spotted Shung and Lady Gali right away, dancing merrily, black braids whipping the air, oblivious to everything around them.
Soldiers stood in clusters, most holding mugs of mead. Achan narrowed his gaze to a wagon on the other side of the bonfire where Kurtz sat with a group of women. Cole sat crosslegged on the ground, his boyish freckled face gazing at Kurtz as if the man were Moul Rog the Great.
Achan crossed to the wagon and gripped Kurtz by the shoulder. “Did not Sir Gavin give orders against spirits while we are engaged in war?”
“Oh, hello, Pacey. How are you this fine evening, eh?”
Achan glanced at Cole, then to his guards, and back to Kurtz. “Do not change the subject. Spirits? Sir Gavin? War?”
“Worked that out, we have. No more than a hundred can drink each night, which leaves most the men on guard, eh?”
Achan frowned. “Yet you seem to be indulging every night. Do you never take a turn on guard?”
Kurtz grinned. “Someone has to organize it all, he does. Besides, I’m on your personal guard.”
Typical Kurtz. “I see. Still, it seems dangerous, don’t you think? If we were to be attacked…”
“Bah! The bottle calms you, Pacey. I’ll likely fight better than anyone, if it comes to that, eh? Besides, many aren’t drinking. Cole, here, is afraid of it. And Sir Shung won’t touch the drink. Just wants to dance with his lass. That’s all most the men want. A little friendly company. Plus, Sir Gavin’s not here tonight. Rode off with his scouts to see about something or other. Tonight’s the night, Pacey.” Kurtz passed him a bottle. “Think about it, eh?”
Achan accepted the bottle from Kurtz, muddled by the man’s reasoning. It was true: all Achan wanted was a little company. To cross swords with Shung or wrestle out his anger.
Instead he walked toward the sea, flanked by Cortland and Achan’s cousin from Nesos. The sunset dusted the prairie grasses in gold. The air smelled salty and cool in his nose and mouth. He swung the bottle by the neck, whipping the tall grass aside as he made his way to the beach.
The prairie grass gave way to sand, sloping down a small hill to the surf. Achan sat in the dry sand, staring at the glassy sea, the sun sinking into the water like a yolk into a simmering pot.
His gut festered. He wanted to rant at Arman about his misfortune, but he knew what Arman would say, if He bothered to answer. Achan didn’t want to hear it. He wanted things to go his way for once. It was selfish, sure, but he didn’t care.
He ripped Averella’s sleeve off his arm and threw it. The lightweight fabric landed at his feet, the maroon glistening in the setting sun.
He brought the bottle to his mouth, worked the